


Sherlollipops - It's In His Kiss

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [70]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was looked upon as being the ultimate act of selfishness to not allow others the opportunity to find their soulmate. The argument was that, sure, you might not want to seek out that ultimate happiness, but to deny it to your soulmate was untenable. And so - kissing as greeting between anyone not graced with a soulmark near their lips. Too bad Sherlock isn't looking to gain such a mark. Too bad he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - It's In His Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liathwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/gifts).



Everyone did it. It was more than just a courtesy or social convention; it was tradition, and even if the UK had never gone so far as to make it a law, it was close enough that not to do it could bring about some pretty awful consequences. Social ostracization was the least of your concerns if you refused a greeting kiss; people had lost their jobs, been disowned by their families or kicked out of their flats when word got round that they’d tried to avoid finding their soulmate. No matter how much one might argue that one was perfectly happy without a soulmate, the general consensus was that they had no idea how much happier they’d be WITH a soulmate – they couldn’t fully understand until it had happened to them. 

Besides, it was looked upon as being the ultimate act of selfishness to not allow others the opportunity to find their soulmate. The argument was that, sure, you might not want to seek out that ultimate happiness, but to deny it to your soulmate was untenable. 

That was the situation Sherlock Holmes faced every day of his life, from the time he was old enough to comprehend why every child he met was decreed to receive a kiss from him. Soulmates could be recognized in children as young as four or five years old, and so from an early age they were indoctrinated – his word – into greeting new acquaintances with kisses. And not just any old kisses; no, kisses full on the mouth, lip to lip. Terribly unhygienic, in his opinion, one echoed by his elder brother Mycroft, who had managed to elude the burden of a soulmate his entire life. Oh, he endured the kisses society dictated he gave and received, but lucky Mycroft had never actually met his soulmate. Possibly, Sherlock was wont to snark, because even Fate or the Gods or whoever it was that caused this psychological and physiological kink in humans the planet over had no idea who could possibly be worthy of the punishment of being paired up with Mycroft Robert Sheridan Holmes.

After many years of being forced to endure endless kisses exchanged with endless strangers, Sherlock had finally had enough. Desperate times called for desperate measures – especially now, when he’d finally met the woman he was absolutely, positively, beyond the shadow of a doubt certain was going to turn out to be his soulmate.

Molly Anne Hooper, Specialist Registrar at St. Bart’s Hospital.

oOo

“Ah, Sherlock, right on time!” Mike Stamford beamed and held out his hand, which Sherlock took and gave a firm shake to. It was such a relief meeting people for the first time who’d already found their soulmates and had the subtle, mole-like mark on the corner of their mouth that indicated their status.

“My clearance has already been taken care of, I presume?” Sherlock asked, although he knew it had been; both his work with Scotland Yard and his brother’s behind-the-scenes machinations would have already assured it. He might be fresh out of rehab – for the third and he sincerely hoped final time – but there was nothing wrong with his deductive abilities. And Mike Stamford was as easy to read as the front page of the _Times_.

“Yes, all set, I’ll just show you around a bit, introduce you to the staff on duty, that sort of thing, then I’ll leave you to it!”

Sherlock winced internally, although he was careful to leave a fake smile plastered on his face as he nodded acceptance. One of the things Mycroft had dinned into him was the necessity of making a good first impression for a change. “I’ve put my reputation on the line for you, brother dear,” he’d drawled at their last meeting. “Do try not to undo all the good work I’ve done on your behalf by offending anyone your first day out, hm?”

Mike took the lead, showing Sherlock around the morgue – thankfully unoccupied by anyone currently living – and then brought him up to the pathology lab where he expected to do most of his research. There were two people in the room, a spotty young redhead with a very prominent soulmark near his mouth, and a young woman – chestnut colored hair worn in a no-nonsense ponytail, deep brown eyes like warm chocolate, classic peaches-and-cream complexion, trim figure beneath baggy, eye-wateringly awful khakis and colorful jumper, nervous smile, tiny hands…no soulmark.

His own hands were shaking, and he carefully tucked them into the pockets of his Belstaff as his panicked mind tried to figure out the best course of action. He’d heard about this phenomenon – sometimes the kiss wasn’t needed for a person to recognize their soulmate, sometimes they could tell just by looking at their supposedly perfect other half. Thank heavens Molly appeared to be unaware of the current that ran like electricity between them, but as soon as her lips touched his, it would be all over. Sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side, he’d always believed that, and to be tied to another person, to have an emotional bond that would always be at the back of his mind, always knowing how they felt and being prey to their moods and whims…no, he couldn’t do it, it would destroy his carefully built-up emotional walls, bring them tumbling down around his ears, lay him bare in ways he couldn’t stand. Besides, once she understood how weak he actually was – a long-time junkie in recovery, a man who could control everything except his own runaway thought processes – she would be horrified to be tied to such a loser, a freak…no, he couldn’t do it, couldn’t ruin her life that way.

Without another word, Sherlock turned on his heel and left, just as Molly approached him with a shy smile on her perfect, tiny little mouth. Well, no, it wasn’t tiny, not too small, it was just that her eyes were so enormous that they dominated her face…and why, he thought viciously as the door swung shut behind him and he strode down the hall at not-quite a run, was he wasting time thinking about her appearance? She didn’t matter to him – couldn’t be allowed to matter to him – and he had to find some way to avoid interacting with her in the future.

oOo

Molly stared at the door, stunned by the reaction of the man Mike had brought into the lab. Sherlock Holmes, she’d been told his name and that he was cleared to use the lab for some vague reasons related to his work with NSY. What she hadn’t been told, however, was how unbelievably rude he’d turn out to be; no one, absolutely NO one, acted like that in the presence of a potential soulmate! Her cheeks burned with humiliation; it was clearly her he was fleeing, since Felix was Marked and so was Mike, who’d already met Sherlock anyway.

“Molly, I’m so…”

She held up her hand and shook her head, not able to meet Mike’s eyes as he started to stammer out an apology. “Save it, Mike,” she said, her voice tight with anger and humiliation. “Excuse me, I need to…just a few minutes, please.” She pushed past him and through the door which Sherlock had just rushed through, trying not to picture him in her mind, although his image was burned there – and not just because of his rudeness.

Oh no, of course she had to be deliberately and coldly snubbed by the first man she’d been eager to kiss on first sight – so handsome, so tall, with cheekbones to die for and gorgeous, cat-like eyes and dark curly hair and a slender physique that set her insides to quivering...and Mike had been so enthusiastic about him, going on and on about his intelligence, something that Molly had always found attractive in a potential mate, above and beyond any mere physical qualities.

Well. So much for any real attraction forming on her part now! Especially after that infuriating man had essentially run away from her. Her cheeks were still burning, her fisted hands shoved deep into her lab coat pockets, throat aching from unshed tears as she hurried down the hall toward the locker room and some much needed privacy. The ladies’ loo was closer, but she wanted to drown herself in a hot shower, get herself under complete control by removing every stitch of clothing and scrubbing every inch of skin until she was as red and raw on the outside as she felt on the inside. There were no other women working in the morgue today, so she’d have complete privacy in which to deal with her current state of agitation, and there was no way either Mike or Felix would come looking for her after what they’d just witnessed.

oOo

Ah, plans. Plans made and fully intended to be carried out. Plans utterly destroyed by the simple fact of a pair of luminous brown eyes set in a delicate face. Feverish plans cast aside with every hurried footstep away from the path lab and those unforgettable eyes. He would falsify a soulmark, claim to have met his true mate on the way home or in a pub or whilst on a case – he would apologize for avoiding her, claiming urgent business or some such rubbish, and the hopeful smile she’d given him would finally be forgotten, never to return. He would be able to work with her under those circumstances, ignoring the longing the sight of her had awakened in his heart and mind, never kissing those lips, pretending that his faux-soulmate was male, was older than him, was something so very opposite her that she would cease to take his perceived rejection of her personally, allowing her to forget the incident had ever happened or at least to ignore it.

As he reached the stairwell and pushed the door open, however, Sherlock’s steps slowed, his racing, feverish thoughts slowing as well, until only one word remained.

No.

No, he couldn’t do this. No, he couldn’t live with himself if he went through with it, tried to ignore the connection that continued to pull at him. Oh, he was strong-willed; he could doubtlessly manage some sort of existence without her…but now that he knew who his soulmate was, now that every fiber of his being clamored for her touch…oh, how his brother would scoff, but Sherlock finally understood what everyone who’d ever found their perfect match had tried to tell him.

He didn’t _want_ to ignore her, to live without her, to continue on as he had been.

He only wanted one thing.

Her.

And so his footsteps continued, bringing him not to the ground floor and the main lobby and the door to the street, but downward another level, to the basement where the morgue was located.

The morgue, and the dressing rooms for the staff.

oOo

Molly started disrobing before the door to the locker room had fully closed behind her, her lab coat a white puddle on the floor, her jumper haphazardly hanging over the bench, her shoes and socks and trousers a trail of breadcrumbs leading to her ultimate destination. A slight detour to her locker; her bra and knickers stuffed onto the bottom shelf while she grabbed the plastic bag holding her shampoo and deodorant, shaving cream and razor and conditioner and body wash and buffer. Then back to the shower stall, the bag deposited on top of the half-wall that separated the washing area from the drying area and the hot spray seeping into her skin as she turned her face up, eyes tightly closed, and silently urged the heat to warm the ice that had sunk into her heart, chilling both body and soul.

“Molly.”

The sound of her name, spoken in a deep, masculine baritone from directly behind her, should have caused her to gasp, to scream, to spin around, to run away…but it did none of those things. Instead of startlement or terror, all Molly felt was a thrumming sense of satisfaction. As if that voice were a home she’d never realized she was missing.

She turned slowly, opening her eyes and brushing hair and water from her face, unsurprised to see him standing in the doorway. Sherlock Holmes. The one who’d turned from her so coldly and quickly, the one she’d never expected to see again.

The cause of her sudden freeze, and the equally sudden thaw that had begun when he spoke her name.

She said nothing, meeting his gaze steadily, not covering herself but not encouraging him in any way other than that. She watched as he slowly dropped his expensive Belstaff from his shoulders, allowing it to land in a heap on the damp tile floor, watching, watching as the rest of his clothing followed until he was as nude as she, as naked to her gaze as she was to his.

She continued to watch as he approached her, slowly, as warily as if she might suddenly change her mind and bolt past him. He reached out and she allowed his hand to cup her face, to gently urge her closer, his fingers against the back of her neck, tangling in her wet mass of hair. She moved as if in a dream, tilting her head up while the water continued to pound against her body, her heart hammering in her chest as slowly, slowly he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a kiss.

She’d been kissed before, so very many times in her nearly thirty years, by boys and girls, men and women; awkward, fumbling kisses, over-eager, panting kisses, perfunctory kisses, friendly kisses, grudging kisses…all of them, every single one, even the ones she’d held high hopes for, faded into near-nonexistence as soon as Sherlock’s lips met hers. Without meaning to she found herself melting against him, pressing her water-slicked form to his, feeling his free arm slip around her waist even as hers slid up his torso to encircle his neck.

Without conscious thought her mouth opened beneath his, and she felt his tongue dart eagerly into her mouth, meeting it with her own, feeling them tangle and glide alongside each other as if they’d been kissing like this for…well, forever, she thought dazedly. Her eyes had fluttered shut at the first press of his lips to hers, and the spreading warmth throughout her body had nothing to do with the hot water still flowing over their joined forms. No, it was a warmth that spoke of lazy summer days as well as passionate nights, that warmed both body and soul. She’d finally found him, her elusive someone, her Soulmate, and everything she’d ever heard about it was right there in his kiss.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped out as they broke for air, his blue-green eyes crinkled at the corners with the anxiety she could feel so clearly through their new-formed Bond. “I was afraid. Forgive me.”

“Always, love,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his again. “Always.”

No further words were either spoken or needed; as he crowded her against the cool tile wall, his lips claiming hers again, Molly could only find room in her mind for one thing – the absolute need to feel more of him, to have him inside her, moving against her and with her, fulfilling her in a way she was positive would far surpass any previous sexual encounter.

And so it proved minutes later, when he’d lifted her by the hips, when she’d wrapped her legs around his narrow waist and felt him sinking into her, no need for his mouth on her sex to prepare her (although she had no arguments to make when he sank to his knees in front of her and did so anyway). She moaned out his name as he pressed his face to the crook of her neck, tilting his hips upward and rutting into her, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the fingers of her other hand digging into his wet curls as he gasped and groaned his pleasure.

It didn’t take long for either of them to reach their peak; Molly knew it was the overwhelming newness of their bond and felt no disappointment as she tumbled over the edge of ecstasy, feeling Sherlock following right behind her. 

As he lowered her back to the floor and held her tightly in his arms, Molly’s heart surged with contentment. After they’d cleaned up and redressed themselves, they stood in front of the mirror in her locker, heads close together, and watched as their soulmarks formed, Molly’s to the right of her lower lip, Sherlock’s to the left of his. The smile that lit up her features, he told her later, was a memory that would always warm him, no matter how dire the situation.

Just as the warmth of his arms around her would always comfort her.

**Author's Note:**

> So originally I had this idea for a two-three or longer chapter fic where Sherlock meets John and puts him up to pretending that they’re soulmates because he’s terrified that being with Molly will mess with his brain and keep him from doing The Work. John goes along with it because he’s cynical and doesn’t think he’ll ever actually meet his soulmate and this way he doesn’t have to keep trying and being disappointed as he has been his entire life. Then John would meet Mary and she would tell right away the soul mark was a fake and take him by surprise and kiss him and then the real soul mark would appear. Then John would have to tell Sherlock sorry, mate but the game’s over and Sherlock would have to confess the truth to Molly.
> 
> But I decided screw that, I want to cut to the chase and not be a tease for once. Hope no one’s disappointed!


End file.
